Belli ira et lacrimae
by Felicia
Summary: Kilmer, Frankie, and the team race to stop an attack from an unexpected enemy. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Belli ira et lacrimae

(War, Wrath and Tears)  
  
By: Felicia Ferguson  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Kilmer, Frankie, and the team race to stop an attack from an unexpected enemy.  
  
Author's Note: I did quite a bit of research in preparing and writing this piece and took a few liberties with real life. Any technical discrepancies are more than likely my fault, so please ignore them -- they were meant in respect not defamation. Also, after much consideration, I decided to have Frankie and Kilmer's relationship and subsequent marriage begin after they were both in the FBI and their divorce to have been final only a couple of months or so before the Pilot.  
  
Further Note: I was excited to see TM fanfic on I hope everyone continues to post!  
  
1/6  
  
Kennedy Space Center

Merritt Island, Florida  
  
The shuttle orbiter Atlantis stood proudly erect on her launch pad. The orange external tank pierced the flawless blue sky. In the air, there was a silence, pregnant with possibilities. Though every mission was important, even special, this mission was to be the most important, the most special to date. In the first joint American-Russian scientific effort, Atlantis would carry not only the usual astronaut compliment, but also two Russian scientists as Mission Specialists.  
  
Thousands of hours of training achieved and launch scheduled for the day after tomorrow, the crew began their final walk-through of the orbiter. Dimitri Kashkov, Mission Specialist Number Two, gazed down from the crew cabin access arm to Atlantis' loading area and watched the American Military Police. M-16's gleaming, the men and women went through the pre-planned movements of the changing of the guard. Security was unprecedented, he had been told, and was all in an effort to protect himself and the other Russian scientist aboard. He smiled at the thought.  
  
"Dimitri!" called his compatriot, "do you not want to get a closer look at our new home?"  
  
Kashkov waved him off and nodded. With one final look at the military guards, he turned his attention to the orbiter itself.  
  
The Vault

Fort Meade  
  
The bullpen of the Homeland Security base of operations, affectionately known as the Vault for its high-level security system, was relatively calm when Colonel Roger Atkins, director of the teams, entered. John Kilmer, the SAC of one of the ten Homeland Security teams and his ex-wife and XO, Frankie Ellroy-Kilmer, had returned from an op that morning. Atkins glanced around the room and noted the latter agent's absence among the usual company of Mo, Mia, Jelani and Anders.  
  
"John," the colonel greeted. Seeing the lines of fatigue etched into the younger man's face, Atkins realized just how close they had come in averting yet another act of terrorism. He wished he had brought something better than more work.  
  
Kilmer glanced up from the report he was in the process of filing on their previous op. He grimaced. "Colonel, I take it by the look on your face that whatever is in that file isn't good news."  
  
Atkins flashed a wry smile and nodded. "Then you would be correct." Handing Kilmer the file, he continued, "The Institute of Organic Chemistry in Moscow, a research facility, has reported that an unknown quantity of Phosgene was stolen from one of their labs. They didn't miss it until this morning during the monthly check of their inventory."  
  
"So it could have disappeared any time between now and a month ago?" Kilmer swung away from the bullpen's conference table and said, "Anders, pull up everything we know on Phosgene."

Anders' hands flew over the keyboard and within seconds information scrolled down the screen in front of him. "Got it. Phosgene, CG to its friends, is legitimately used in plastics and pesticides. However, in World War I it was used as a choking agent and was responsible for the largest amount of chemically-related deaths." He paused for a moment, located the information he wanted, then continued reading, "Exposure will initially cause coughing, the sensation of burning in the throat and eyes, watery eyes, blurred vision, shortness of breath, nausea and vomiting. But most notably, as time goes on, fluid will begin to fill the lungs which will literally cause a person to drown."

Mia and Mo had joined the trio, abandoning their own efforts at deciphering chatter from unknown parts of the world. Mia leaned against Anders' desk and peered down at the screen. "Any idea as to where that canister is now? Mo and I have been monitoring the chatter ever since Echelon popped up with some unusual activity in Chechnya."  
  
Kilmer looked his question. "NSA's got a hit on a Chechen website," Mo answered. "It's a group that has been labeled as al-Qaeda sympathizers: the Sabotage Battalion of Chechen Martyrs. Previously there had only been chatter -- and lots of it -- between them and al-Qaeda linked people. But now there's a blog entry. 'Fire will consume the sky as Allah's wrath spews forth on the Infidels.'"  
  
Atkins raised his eyebrows. "The Infidels. That could be anyone. Any record as to who posted it?"  
  
"Back-tracking now," Jelani said as information downloaded onto his screen. "It came from a computer in Grozny in the home of one Alexi Brilnikov. Brilnikov has ties to the Chechen separatist movement, but so far has not been linked to the more radical branches."  
  
"At least he hasn't been tagged yet," Kilmer muttered as he memorized the face on the screen.  
  
"Phone calls and emails are indicating that something is being set up to retaliate for Russia's bombing of Chechnya with the American's OK after the school incident."  
  
Grim-faced, Kilmer nodded. "Alright, Jelani, have Russian officials pick him up. Mo, you and Mia work on finding that CG." He pulled out his cell phone and tabbed in a number. After the fourth ring, he heard the aggravated voice of his ex-wife.  
  
"Kilmer, I'm in the shower."  
  
"And I'm sure you look great," he replied with a mischievous grin that belied his exhaustion. "But dry off quick. You and I are headed to Chechnya."

...to be continued...

I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Threat Matrix and the associated characters do not belong to me. Unfortunately. If they did, I wouldn't have bowed to the critics and the show would still be running.  
  
2/6  
  
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean  
  
The purr of the militarized Gulfstream III punctuated the silence in the cabin. The C-20H usually reserved for high-ranking government and DoD officials had been commandeered by Homeland Security for use in transporting their agents. Five hours into the roughly 15 hour flight, John Kilmer sat with his eyes closed, trying to determine the likely target of the terrorists. After a moment of further contemplation, he said, "OK so we're looking at a possible attack on the American embassy in Moscow."  
  
To his left, Frankie shook her head and pointed to the data stream on her PPX. "That doesn't feel right, Kilmer. The Chechens have become bolder with each attack. Bombing an embassy is still much removed from the daily life of the average American. If they're as angry as it seems, they'll be looking for something with a deeper impact. They'll hit closer to home."  
  
Kilmer tipped his head, acknowledging her logical assessment. "Any ideas?"  
  
"If I had any," Frankie retorted with an irritated glance toward her ex, "I wouldn't be poring over these files."  
  
Kilmer watched her in silence as she skimmed the pages of documentation on her PPX. He had always admired the speed and agility of her mind. That skill had caught his eye when they had first teamed up to work a serial killer case for the Bureau. Well, that and her incredible legs.  
  
"Stop watching me, Kilmer," she warned, not lifting her eyes from the text before her.  
  
Kilmer smiled. "I like watching you think."  
  
"You like watching me cross my legs more," she parried with a soft snort.  
  
"Well," he answered, "they are one of your finest attributes." His smile deepened at the thought.  
  
Frankie, unnerved by the sudden personal bent to the conversation, turned off her PPX and glanced over at him. Seeing the gleam of interest in his gaze, she quickly focused on securing the PPX in her bag. "Look, Kilmer, we're both exhausted. Let's just get some sleep so we'll be functional once we land."  
  
Hating to end the conversation, John nonetheless was pragmatic enough to recognize the good sense in her recommendation. He was tired and as much fun as it was to pick at her, he knew that making her uncomfortable would not serve his purpose. Nodding his agreement, Kilmer reached up and killed the overhead light. He leaned back his chair and with a whispered, "Good night, Mrs. Kilmer," he shut eyes.  
  
Kilmer woke a few hours later to the smell of peaches and the accompanying soft weight of Frankie's head and smiled. While they slept, she had shifted. Her arm now slung across his chest while she used his shoulder for a pillow. Breathing in the heady and familiar scent of her shampoo, he raised a hand to gently encircle her arm and closed his eyes allowing himself to dream of their past, and hope for their future.  
  
Kilmer was awake and talking with the pilots when Frankie finally dragged herself up from the depths of dreamland. God, she had been tired. She couldn't remember sleeping that well in a long time. With a huge stretch and yawn, she took a sniff. It was an old habit, a throwback to married life. When she would wake up in the morning, John would have already started the coffee pot. She hadn't awakened to the smell of freshly brewed coffee for months now.  
  
At least not until this morning.  
  
Before she could say a word, Kilmer handed her a cup of steaming java, grinning at her obvious surprise. "You didn't think I'd forgotten how much you enjoy that first cup, did you?"  
  
If she were going to admit the truth, Frankie had actually half-hoped that he had forgotten. It would have been one more supporting detail to lend weight to her gut feeling about them. But he hadn't. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  
  
It was a good thing she decided a moment later as the first taste of caffeine slipped over her tongue. Definitely a good thing.  
  
"So, how did you sleep?"  
  
"Better than I have in a long time. You?"  
  
"Same here." He smiled as he took a sip of his own mug of coffee. He was sure she didn't know what had happened last night: how she had slept so trustingly in his arms. He wasn't about to tell her. If he voiced it, she would be bound to say something disparaging, thus shattering a moment he would treasure.  
  
Oblivious to his thoughts, Frankie took another sip then put the cup aside in favor of her PPX. "Anything more come in last night?"

Kilmer sobered and shook his head. "Not much. Mia and Mo are back-tracking the CG. Anders has discovered that a single shoulder-fired missile was stolen from the Russian military armory late yesterday."  
  
"Brilnikov?"  
  
"As of last report, he's still in lock-up. We'll be landing in roughly twenty minutes and members of the Russian police force are to escort us to the prison."  
  
Frankie nodded and nursed her coffee for a long moment, her mind still more than a little hazy. After she had downed half of the cup, she looked up and murmured, "Kilmer? Thanks."  
  
With a grin, he winked at her and replied, "Don't mention it."  
  
Twenty minutes later, the wheels of the plane thumped to the ground, the engines whined their protest as the brakes and wing flaps worked to harness the power to a safer speed. Frankie glanced out the window and stifled a curse.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
She pointed to the men standing on the tarmac by a car. "That can't be good."  
  
Kilmer leaned over the seat, savoring the accidental contact with her breasts. "Our Russian escort looks pretty antsy if everything is fine. Damn. Wonder what happened."  
  
"We'll find out soon enough."

...to be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

3/6

A brisk wind whipped through Frankie's hair as she and Kilmer disembarked from the plane. Grabbing her fly-aways she tucked them into a pony tail and looped it back under itself. Kilmer paused in his descent down the stairs when he realized she wasn't directly behind him. With a quick shake of her head, she indicated she would join him in a minute. She had barely set her feet on the tarmac when one of the Russian officers launched into his introduction.

In heavily accented English, he stated, "Agents, welcome to Moscow. Due to the situation, I will dispense with the formalities." At their twin looks of concern, he continued, "I regret to inform you that the prison in which we were holding Mister Brilnikov was bombed just before your plane landed."

Frankie glanced toward Kilmer, reading his irritation. "Was he killed?"

The Russian shook his head. "We do not yet know. Our forensic teams are, how do you through the wreckage now. We will take you there immediately."

Kilmer wrapped his communicator around his ear and started toward the car leaving Frankie to gather more information from the officials. "Jelani, we've hit a snag. The prison was bombed. No word on Brilnikov. I need you to find out if anyone has claimed responsibility. And track all the airports. If he's alive, I want to know where he is."

"On it," Jelani replied, his fingers dancing across the keyboard in front of him. He said a quick prayer in hopes of finding his boss good news, but knew it went unanswered as his screen came up blank.

"Kilmer," he replied, ignoring the background noise of the car the SAC and XO were riding in. Apparently the Russians weren't as big on a quiet ride as Americans.

"Give me good news," his boss replied, the edge in his voice letting him know that, while Kilmer wouldn't hold him personally responsible, he would expect answers at some point.

"Nothing popped. No responsibility, no hit on his name on any passenger manifests, nothing. Anders is running his picture against the cameras in the Moscow airports, but he's not expecting anything."

Kilmer barely stifled his curse. The one lead they had on the recent threat might well have died in the attack. Balling his fist, he pounded the seat.

Frankie placed a calming hand over his fist. It wouldn't aid the cooperation of the locals if Kilmer lost it. Shooting him a warning glance, she questioned the officials for the remainder of the ride.

As the car neared the prison, it slowed, the path blocked by fire trucks and ambulances in addition to police officials cordoning off the area. It took ten frustratingly-long minutes for the car to be waved through. Kilmer jumped out before the engine stopped running.

He grabbed a nearby fireman and asked, "Have you recovered any bodies?"

The fireman shook his head. By his reaction it was obvious he didn't speak English. Frankie appeared a moment later and repeated the question in Russian.

The man replied at length then turned away.

"Kilmer, he said that the bodies of four prisoners and two security guards were found. Fourteen other prisoners were wounded. None of them was Brilnikov."

"Then he's still alive."

Frankie offered him a wan smile. "Looks that way." She pressed her hand against her earpiece and asked, "Anders, how are you coming on the picture IDs?"

"So far nothing, but if he's wearing a wig and sunglasses, we won't know him from Corey Hart."

Kilmer shot a perplexed glance to Frankie, who responded, "I wear my sunglasses at night..."

The SAC snorted and shook his head at the questionable musical tastes of Anders and Frankie. "Alright, keep after it. There's nothing more to do here, so we're heading back to the airport. Have Mo and Mia link in as soon as they know anything on the CG."

With one last glance toward the gutted building, Kilmer cursed. If there was one thing he hated, it was a wasted trip. And a fifteen hour wasted trip took the cake.

Cape Canaveral Air Force Base

Crew Quarters

Late that night, the phone in one of the crew quarters rang. Dimitri Kashkov rose from his seat before a package of graphite and Semtex and picked it up. He offered no greeting. None was needed.

"Praise be to Allah," stated the voice at the other end. "I have escaped the hand of the Infidels and will soon join you."

"Praise, indeed, my friend," Kashkov replied. "When I see you again, I will greet you with your women."

His friend laughed. "Allah is good, but if he is wise, they will all be blonde."

Kashkov smiled then replaced the phone on the hook. He closed his eyes and began to pray. If he planned to meet Allah the next day, it would be better to have a purer soul.

The Vault

Fort Meade

Frankie and Kilmer hit the doors to The Vault with a little more energy and seemingly less information than they'd had when they'd left just over 30 hours ago. A mid-air conference with Mia and Mo had determined that a canister of

Phosgene was signed out by one of the Institute's high-ranking scientists. As of three hours ago, the Charlie brothers were infiltrating his house to search the premises and bring him in for questioning.

"Kilmer," the Chinese-American began as the SAC and XO descended the stairs to the bullpen. "We got word back from the CIA that the scientist is an AQ sympathizer. He claims he stole the CG a little over three weeks ago knowing it wouldn't be missed until it was too late. Apparently, he gave it to a contact within the Chechen army and it was shipped out of Russia. He doesn't know where."

"Anders, where are we on locating Brilnikov?"

"Still searching, Frankie, but we have had another blog entry. It came across about 20 minutes ago, 'Allah's wrath will soon pour out over the Infidels' frivolity and superficiality. Praise be Allah.'"

"So it's safe to say Brilnikov got here just before we did." Kilmer dropped his bag at the foot of the stairs and headed over to the conference table. Flipping though a sheaf of papers, he asked, "Jelani is there any indication yet as to the target? Or what happened to that missile?"

"Nothing has popped up on Echelon, but we're still searching."

"Do it fast, because if Brilnikov is in possession of the CG, the missile or both, there's no telling how many casualties he'll leave."

The Vault

Fort Meade

Kilmer sank into the chair behind his desk and scrubbed his face with his hands. Glancing up to Frankie, who leaned against the desk, he asked, "When this is all over, why don't we have dinner and just be humans for one night?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," she answered as she stood and wrapped her arms around herself. She turned her gaze to the windows, seeing the past rather than the present. "The last time you wanted to have dinner you ended up skipping out on me and calling me from Seattle while I was waiting for you at the restaurant."

Kilmer pursed his lips at her response. "How many times have I told you I know what a jerk I was?"

"It doesn't matter the number, Kilmer." Frankie flashed him a sad smile and shook her head. "You'll do it again, given half the chance. I know you and I know my gut."

"That's not me anymore." Tired of her dependence on her ever-loving gut where they were concerned, John rose and walked around the desk facing her head-on. "I'm not that ass anymore and Frankie, in your heart, you know it! Why can't you just admit that in this situation, your gut is wrong? Are you so determined to be right that you'll give up what still exists between us? Or are you just afraid to let yourself love me as much as I love you?"

Kilmer took a breath as he ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. Shaking his head, he turned away from her and leaned against the desk. He glanced up to watch her reflection in the darkened windows and saw it: the lone tear that slipped down her cheek. "What's wrong with being wrong, baby?" he murmured as he watched the tear trace its path. "Especially when it turns out to be right."

He wanted desperately to turn around, to take her in his arms, to kiss her cheek dry, but he knew she would see it as patronizing. So, instead he tightened his grip on the edge of his desk knuckles whitening with the effort.

A knock sounded at the door and Kilmer barely leashed his impulse to tell whomever it was to go away. Jelani peeked in. "Sorry to interrupt," he began, glancing from Kilmer to Frankie and back. He had heard the SAC's tirade, could repeat it word for word if asked regardless of the sound-proofing. He had debated about leaving them to hash it out, but the information wouldn't keep and apparently they had waited months to have this discussion. "Our Chechen friend was spotted at a marina south of Orlando carrying a large equipment bag. Mo and Mia are en route."

Frankie grasped the interruption with both hands. Tilting her head back to stave off the appearance of more tears, she asked, "What took him to Orlando?"

"The shuttle Atlantis is due to lift off later this afternoon with a combined crew of astronauts and cosmonauts."

Kilmer pursed his lips then nodded. "Good work, alert the coast guard and get us out there. I want to be wheels up in 10 minutes at the latest."

"You got it, boss," Jelani said as he disappeared.

Kilmer stifled a curse. "So, I guess we table this discussion."

"Looks like it," Frankie answered as she wiped the back of her hand across her cheek.

Kilmer moved toward the door, but paused as he reached her side. Sliding his thumb along the inside of her wrist and down her palm, he felt her shiver of recognition. It had been her favorite caress. He tangled his fingers with hers and heard her short intake of breath.

He was so tired of the memories that haunted him, tired of being beside her every day then going home to an empty apartment at night. He wanted more than the memories. He wanted her.

"John," she breathed in an effort to return them to sanity, to end the sweet torture of the seemingly simple caress.

"I know, but we will talk about this later." He released her hand and grabbed his always-packed overnight bag from beside the door. With a glance back to her, he opened the door and left.

Frankie heaved a watery sigh. Forcing her jumbled emotions to the furthest part of her heart, she focused her thoughts on the task at hand.

...to be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

4/6 

Kennedy Space Center Merritt Island, Florida

The launch clock read T minus 47 minutes as the first of the astronauts climbed into the crew access quarters. Dimitri Kashkov, third to board, settled himself into his seat in the mid-deck area of the shuttle. With a quick glance to his compatriot who was snapping the safety belts into place, he shifted the package that was secured around his abdomen. The flight suit he wore concealed the additional bulk admirably, but it did nothing to ease the discomfort of the tape pulling against the hairs on his chest. However, if all went well, he wouldn't be uncomfortable for long.

For his part, Alexi Brilnikov savored the sting of salt water as he steered his rented speed boat along the Florida coastline. In the distance, he could see the Coast Guard vessels monitoring the other boaters who had chosen to watch the launch from the water. He smiled as he checked his watch. By the time they found him, it would be too late.

The dock owner who had identified Brilnikov had given Mo a complete description of the boat he had rented, but even with the pertinent details, he and Mia were still faced with a daunting number of boats to check out. Mo lowered his binoculars and looked again at the registration number of the speed boat in question. He had already memorized it, but it gave him something to do while his eyes uncrossed.

Mia glanced over at his direction then lifted her own binoculars once more. "Mo, do you see what I see? Twenty-three degrees south."

Mo raised the binoculars again and answered, "That's an affirmative."

Mia turned and ordered the lieutenant accompanying them to steer toward the boat in question. Pressing his ear piece closer to his ear, Mo said, "Kilmer, we've spotted the boat and are moving to intercept."

"Good work you two," came the quick reply.

A few minutes later, Mo's reassuring statement broke over Kilmer's ear piece, "Target has been acquired. Weapon is secure."

Kilmer shot a relieved glance to Frankie, then asked, "Mo, any sign of the CG?"

"Negative, Kilmer. The only thing he had on him was a shoulder-fired missile."

Kilmer, brow furrowed with confusion, said, "Come again?"

"Mia and I have searched his person thoroughly and the Coast Guard people are tearing the boat apart. There is no biotoxin here."

"This doesn't make sense," Frankie said as she held up a hand to shade her eyes and look around. Seeing the hulls of the multitude of Coast Guard ships milling about the spectators, she shook her head. "He must have known he would be caught."

"His boat was also directly in the path of the Coast Guard's patrol route," Jelani added through the ear piece. "If we hadn't gotten to him, they would have picked him up on their own within a matter of minutes."

Kilmer grimaced as he watched the boat containing Mo, Mia and their prisoner turn toward the shore. "So why would he even bother attempting an attack? And where would he have put the CG?"

"Unless he wasn't the only plant," Frankie murmured.

"A diversion while the real op goes as planned..." The SAC raised his eyebrows at the thought. "But where?"

Frankie shook her head. "Kilmer, the Chechens are big on collateral damage. Their last few suicide bombs killed a minimum of 40 bystanders each time."

Kilmer turned his practiced eyes toward the surrounding buildings. "The website said that America's frivolity and superficiality would be curtailed."

Frankie pursed her lips as her mind assimilated fact with supposition. "The shuttle wouldn't necessarily be considered frivolous and the Chechens would have been happy with the show of destroying the cooperation between us and the Russians. But al-Qaeda ..." she trailed off as her gaze was snagged by the launch pad. "Jelani, how many people are in the crowd to watch the lift-off?"

The former NSA agent scanned the pages of information that scrolled across his screen. "Guards estimate roughly 200, not counting the Russian minister and staff as well as the US dignitaries."

"Anders," Frankie prompted as she looked west, "what is the mortality estimate if the toxin is released here in Canaveral?"

"Depending on wind sheer and the shuttle's elevation at release, we're looking at all of Orlando and the surrounding counties as ground zero.

"Not to mention Disney World and the other theme parks," Frankie added with grim assessment.

"You got it, frivolity and superficiality personified."

"Alright," Kilmer agreed, with a brisk nod, "Jelani, contact Mission Control. We have got to stop that lift-off."

Frankie pushed the tendrils of hair that had slipped from her pony tail back over her ears. "Every visitor was patted down in addition to the metal detectors. So the only way something could have gotten through..."

"...Was on a cosmonaut," Kilmer finished. "Anders, do either of the cosmonauts have any ties to the Chechens or AQ?"

"Checking. I'm not finding any obvious red flags. Wait, this is interesting. One cosmonaut, Kashkov, does have a connection to our would-be missile launcher. Turns out they were childhood friends before Brilnikov left for Sabila, Pakistan, a known AQ training camp."

Jelanie's voice rejoined the conversation. "Mission Control says that the Russians were given a tour of the shuttle after their final simulation. One of the cosmonauts disappeared for a while, but when questioned, he said he was checking out the head."

"We need to clear the area and evacuate the shuttle without alerting him," Frankie said, turning to Kilmer just as the launch counter ticked down to twelve minutes. "If he's a suicide bomber, he'll have the detonation device on under his flight suit and will trigger it at the first sign of trouble."

"Jelani, work with Mission Control and figure out a plausible excuse -- a minor malfunction, anything -- that requires the astronauts to disembark for repair. Make sure they don't use something that will tell him he's been discovered."

"Done and done, boss. The astronauts will be offloading in a minute. NASA tweaked the O2 in the cabin."

"Good enough. Isolate Kashkov and call in the bomb squad to deactivate the bomb. Have center authorities meet Frankie and me at the loading dock. We've got to find that toxin."

...to be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

5/6 

Atlantis' Crew Cabin Access Arm Merritt Island, Florida

"Kilmer, Mo and Mia are back on land and Brilnikov is in custody. The bomb squad disabled a bomb on Kashkov."

Kilmer nodded with grim assent as he took the proffered gas mask from a technician. After donning the mask, he raced across the access arm, Frankie and several NASA technicians following closely behind. "Okay, Anders, what are we looking for?"

"The Phosgene must be stored in a cool environment until it's released. It will most likely be in liquid form. At room temperature it will rapidly become a gas which can be either colorless or a pale yellow and it's heavier than air so it will drop immediately to low land levels."

"OK, Mission Control said he had stopped by the head, so the CG is likely in or around that area. Are there any panels that could easily be removed?"

"Not easily," answered one of the techs, "but it could be done. My guess is he would hide it in one of the storage containers in the head. No one would be doing any last minute checks in that area and a loose panel would definitely catch someone's eye."

Kilmer nodded. "Alright then, lead the way."

The agents and technicians worked their way down the decks toward the head, but once there, they realized that the additional hands weren't an asset. The head could fit one person easily, two if they stood back-to-back. Frankie glanced toward Kilmer, who read the question in her eyes. With a gallant gesture, he said, "Ladies first."

She shook her head at his mischievous smile and squeezed in on one side of the toilet. A moment later she felt the room shrink as he joined her. Frankie pawed through the plastic storage containers, removing each one and placing it along the ledge. After several minutes of concerted searching, Kilmer cursed.

"Looks like the AQ wanted to make sure that even if their Chechen brethren were caught, they could still claim a victory."

Frankie turned, eyes widening at the sight of the LED screen counting down from eight minutes. Strapped to it was a clear jar of a pale liquid.

"Jelani, get the bomb squad up here ASAP. We've got the biotoxin, but it has its own detonator."

"On their way, Kilmer.

"Anders," Frankie asked as she followed Kilmer out of the head, "are there any contingencies should exposure occur?"

"Get out of the area immediately and get rid of any contaminated clothing. If the toxin has gotten on your skin, wash yourself thoroughly with soap and water then haul ass to the base doctor."

The thundering footsteps of the bomb squad echoed on the floorboards growing louder as they neared the head. Kilmer glanced at the time. Five minutes and counting. Stepping aside, he gave the team ample room to work. The first member of the four-man team squeezed into the room and gingerly pulled the wires away from the detonators. With a quick snip, the detonator froze with 3:59 left to go.

The commander of the team nodded to Kilmer and Frankie. "We've got it."

"Anders, the Phosgene has been isolated and the detonator deactivated. Have Hazmat on site to take custody of the canister."

Some three hours later, Frankie stood in another room, this one quite a bit larger than the bathroom on the space shuttle and stared across a table at Dimitri Kashkov. "You are a scientist. You had important work to do on this mission. Why did you destroy your chance to perhaps make great scientific discoveries?"

"Do you think we wanted this?" he asked spreading his cuffed hands as far as the chains would allow them to move. "Our fathers and brothers even sisters have had to resort to killing themselves in order to achieve what should have been granted decades ago: our freedom. Russia's boot heel has been lodged at our throats for so long with no outside intervention that we had no choice. How else do we, a small nation in the foothills of the Caucus Mountains, attract the attention of nations such as yours?

"You who find wars with which to distract yourselves. Come to Chechnya, there is no need for you to search for enemies when we have one to offer you! You liberated Kuwait from the shackles of an evil dictator. How are we so different from them? Is not another country terrorizing us for our oil? Why did you help them and not us?"

"The Kuwaitis," Frankie began, steel lacing her words, "never resorted to bombing innocent civilians."

Kashkov smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. "But don't you see? There are no innocents in this war. It is a fight for survival on our own terms. We wish to live as Muslims, to marry and raise our children. Yet, Russia will not let us go." He paused and leveled a considering gaze on her. "Tell me, Agent Kilmer, do you have children?"

"No," she replied with a shake of her head.

"Ah, but you were once a child, yes?" He nodded as if to answer his own question. "And how do children go about getting their parents' attention? By first, tugging on their hands? Then, when the parent ignores them, they might begin to cry. And if the parent still ignores them, then they act out, throwing toys and the like." He paused again, considering her reaction or lack thereof. "You see, we are that child desperately trying to bring Russia's attention to us as a people not merely as a pipeline for oil. Yet they do not see."

"How much worse does it have to get?" Frankie asked as she tossed down a series of pictures from the siege at the movie theater in Russia. "How much further do you have to go?" she continued as several pictures of the recent school bombing joined the others. "Sooner or later you will reach a point when all of your 'acting out' as you describe it will gain the type of attention you do not want."

Kashkov sighed. "Perhaps we have already reached that point. After two wars and thousands of deaths, you would think that one side would relent, wouldn't you? Unfortunately, we Chechens will not give up until we get what we want, until we are free."

...to be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

6/6 Epilogue

Cape Canaveral Air Force Base Cape Canaveral, Florida

Kilmer watched as the plane containing Brilnikov and Kashkov along with Mo and Mia as escorts lifted off the tarmac toward Gitmo. He turned away from the window and back to his ex-wife who was putting the finishing touches on the paperwork before they returned to D.C. He pursed his lips knowing now was as good a time as any to continue their previous discussion, but uncertain as to how to broach the topic.

Frankie saved him from coming up with a plausible entry. Her writing complete, she laid her pen down and folded her hands in front of her on the table. Reading the look in his eyes, she nodded, silently agreeing that they had to talk. "I know what you want here, what you want to happen between us. You've made that perfectly clear, John." She paused, gathering her thoughts and words. "But every time you left without warning, it was yet another reminder of my second place status in your life. Your work always came first."

Kilmer shook his head as a feeling of dread washed over him. "And it still has to come first, now more than ever."

She dipped her head in agreement and replied, "But we're both on the same detail so work comes first for both of us."

Kilmer didn't answer. He had a sudden premonition that their future would be determined by whatever words came next.

Frankie closed her eyes, blocking his intent expression. She took a quick fortifying breath, then continued, "As much as I hate to admit it, part of me still loves you, regardless of all else." She lifted her lids and read the hope that lit his eyes. In a rush, she finished, "But you have to know the other part of me has some awfully good reasons for not loving you."

John braced for another diatribe on his crimes against her and was shocked to watch the tremble in her lower lip. He balled his hands into fists staying them from pulling her out of the chair and into his arms. With a heartfelt plea, he said, "Come on, Frankie, you've gotta give me something to go on."

She smiled at his impatience. It was as if he could sense victory a mere few steps away and was itching to claim it, to claim her. "The thing is," she continued, masterfully maintaining an even voice. "In the argument over what is best for me, the part of me that loves you is winning. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm willing to give you another shot."

Relief flooded his face rather than the triumph she had expected. She didn't often admit she was wrong and was sure that John would hold it over her. In fact, the old John would have done so. Maybe he had changed as much he wanted her to think. A warm glow washed over her at the thought.

John relaxed his hands and sank to the edge of the desk they had been using. Lacing their fingers together, he brought one of her hands to his lips. Frankie watched him as he placed a delicate kiss on each of her knuckles. She waited until his eyes returned to hers then warned, "Just don't screw up this time, Kilmer. I don't think I could take it again."

He nodded and with a smile that she hadn't seen in months, he answered, "Come on, Mrs. Kilmer, let's get out of here."

finis 


End file.
